Being Held by a Beast
by Bookmark People
Summary: Dramione ship. Picks up in DH in Malfoy Manor scene… Dobby the house elf manages to save Harry Potter and his friends, but one muggle-born gets left behind. Hermione Granger is now as the mercy of her captors, being held hostage as a slave to He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers. Life seems bleak until it seems there's someone on the inside offering help to Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

**Dramione ship.**

 **Picks up in DH in Malfoy Manor scene… Dobby the house elf manages to save Harry Potter and his friends, but one muggle-born gets left behind.**

 **Hermione Granger is now as the mercy of her captors, being held hostage as a slave to He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers. Life seems bleak until it seems there's someone on the inside offering help to Hermione.**

 **Very dark! Mature themes and sexual content.**

•••

Hermione let out a bloodcurdling scream. Pain coursed through her veins, her limbs contorted at broken angles, her muscles pulling tight in protest.. As the curse sent its final tremors through her body, she doubled over and tied to recover her breath. Pushing two hands down in front of her, Hermione tested the strength in her legs and rose slowly to to an unsteady position. Her lungs were screaming for air, so she relieved them with a shallow inhale. She rose her eyes to meet Yaxley's, holding her chin high and keeping her tears back.

'Hit her again', said Yaxley, his eyes not straying from his firewhisky. He swirled the cold ice around in his cup, bored by the scene playing out in front of him.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, appeared quite enthused with her task. 'CRUCIO!', she cried as an ugly and twisted smile spread across her face, her eyes wild with content as the next wave of pain crashed over Hermione.

Her knees buckled, dropping to the floor hard, her skull ricocheting of the black porcelain tile. So much for standing tall and being the stoic, silent prisoner, she thought, as a another cry and pain ripped through her throat. Bellatrix didn't seem satisfied, as she sent another curse her way.

Another wave of the curse passed through her body. Hermione's vision was white from the head impact, making everything around her glow. Her eyes drifted from the pool of blood collecting below her temple, up to the hooded figures standing above her. They weren't watching her, instead busying themselves in discrete, excited discussion. She looked past them, to the beautiful portraits hanging on the decorative walls. The only light that seemed to penetrate the dark heavy curtains covering the front bay windows shone on a tapestry that hung in the corner. A portrait, from what she could tell, of a woman. The glowing didn't seem to fade as Hermione watched the swirls of dust float through the single light beam, never seeming to find a place to settle. There were only a few others in the room besides herself. She could head snippets of their conversation over the ringing in her ears;

"...It can't be ruddy Potter down there?..."

"...The Dark Lord… we should prepare…"

"...that's the fucking mudblood on the floor there…"

Hermione thought back to how she'd gotten herself in this situation. She had been so careless to let those Snatchers find them. All of it, the secrecy, the planning, being on the run, being hunted like fugitives, was for nothing. No one knew of the intimate details of their mission. No one would be able to pick up where they left off. They had failed. How could The dark Lord be defeated, if the secrets of his horcruxes and their whereabouts died with the three of them that day. The hopelessness of the situation crashed on her, as she thought of her parents who would never know their daughter. She thought of Ginny, who would never see her brother, her best friend, or the love of her life again. Oh Ron, how he would probably be down in some cellar, listening to her screams, blaming himself. Or of Harry. Her most loyal and trusted friend. How soon would his identity be confirmed? Her thoughts were interrupted as Bellatrix violently pulled her head back, forcing her up to her knees.

Keeping a tight hold on her hair, Bellatrix leaned in close to Hermione, the stench of her breath smothering the air around her.

"Tell me again, where did you get it?", she whispered sweetly. Hermione stole a shaky breath, and tried to keep her voice steady as she replied.

'' It's as I said before, we- AGH", Hermione's argument was silenced by a tug to her head, as she was dragged onto her back by Bellatrix.

" LIES, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD'.

 _CRACK._ The backhanded blow came so quickly, Hermione wasn't given time to flinch.

Yaxley cut in, his forefinger and thumb pressed firmly to the bridge of his nose, face scrunched up in discomfort as he spoke in his monotone voice, "Really Bellatrix, is all this noise necessary".

Bellatrix's gaze snapped up to meet Yaxleys lazy gaze, "This will be as much your fault, as it is mine", she replied slowly, filling her words with venomous intent.

A silence descended on the few who remained in the room. Yaxley stood and looked about the room, "Out.", her ordered quietly. Some hesitated to move, surprised by his words. "Now!", he cried, as he waved his wand, flinging open the doors to the neighbouring parlour room, where a fire gate open to the floo network stood.

Many moved towards the door, quickly following Yaxley's orders. "And you, Lucius?"

One of the more bent, and less-regal looking figures in a black cloak paused and turned slightly, revealing some strands of fine, platinum hair. "Simply seeing off our visitors, Yaxley", he said, with a small, wavering voice.

"Not necessary. You should bring down Narcissa", Yaxley continued. "This concerns your family too".

"I don't see how they're involved". Lucius retorted, not taking a step closer into the room, still hovering by the doorway.

"But is this not your house, Lucius? Are we not your guests? I want the Dark Lord to be called at once. Even if the Dursley boy downstairs isn't Potter, he'll be pleased with our newest addition." he curtly nodded in the direction of Hermione's limp outline. "Perhaps you should call for your family Lucius.", he said again, in a cold, hard voice.

Lucius took a step forwards, moving towards the grand staircase at the opposite side of the room.

"Have Narcissa send for the prisoners, I want Draco to take another look at Potter." Yaxley continued.

Lucius paused, taken back, "You really believe it to be him?".

Yaxley gave Lucius a small, calculating smile, "For your family's sake, you should hope so. It would please The Dark Lord to hear of your involvement. It is time the Malfoy's weaseled their way back into his good graces".

 **•••**

Deep underneath the Malfoy Mansion, in the cold dark cellars, Harry sat with his back to wet cement wall. He looked around at the grim scene before him. Luna, dressed in filthy rags, shivering, while cradling Mr. Ollivander's head in her lap. Harry studied the man's pale and cracked face. He had been asleep for sometime now- Hermione's screams echoing through their cell hadn't even caused him to stir. He was exhausted, and sickly. He would not live much longer here. Harry reached his fingers up to his own face, and felt that most of the swelling from Hermione's well-timed stinging spell had worn off.

 _CRACK!_

Harry jumped up at the noise, pushing his glasses closer to his face, squinting out into the low-lit cavernous prison. He looked down to his left, where Ron sat huddled next to luna, sharing the light from the deluminator. Ron's eyes met his, confusion etched into his face. Harry stepped forward, not quite making out the silhouette, when a sudden high pitched voice cut through the darkness, "Mr. Potter! Dobby has come to save you!"

A slow grin seemed to take over Harry's face, as Dobby the House Elf, wearing a pair of mismatched socks, stepped into the light.

•••

Hermione felt as though her arm was on fire. She could feel every detail of the engraving being carved into her skin. Her mouth was stretched wide, her throat open and sore. She could feel the air passing through her lips, but no sound would emit. The only noise that disrupted the silence was the scratching of her feet along the floor and she struggled through the pain, and the small fits of laughter coming from bellatrix, as she went about her work.

"I must admit, I do prefer the beauty of one's agony when they're not making such a god damned racket.", said Yaxley, as he peered over at Hermione's twisting limbs. As Hermione's cries began to sound again, however softly, Yaxley pulled out his wand and repeated the spell, " _Silencio_ ".

"Look!", Bellatrix lept off of Hermione in delight, walking over to Yaxley and taking the handkerchief he had in hand, to wipe off the flecks of blood covering her wand. "Now that's definitely some of my best work." she added in an hushed undertone, smiling.

Hermione tilted her head to the side, examining the outstretched arm, reading the words that would forever leave a mark on her flesh. _Mudblood._ She closed her eyes then, as she saved her strength and lay still, focusing on her shallow breath.

 _Inhale_. There was no way out of this. Hermione was to die; _when_ was the only unknown. _Exhale._ Hermione could hear the sounds from the cellar pick up, doors were being opened and slammed shut. _Inhale._ Lucius descended the staircase, his wife in tow. _Exhale._ The noises were getting noticeably louder, there were voices now too. Bellatrix moved closer, Yaxley rose from his chair. _Exhale._ Nothing. _Inhale._ Silence. _Exhale._ All hell broke loose.

Hermione pushed herself up onto her forearms as Harry and Ron barged to the top the stairs, firing hexes any way their wands pointed. " _Stupefy!_ ", cried Ron, throwing the curse at Yaxley. " _Expelliarmus!_ ", cried Harry, snatching Bellatrix's wand from her hand. Unfortunately, Lucius lept into action, throwing shields up and attacking with matched vigour. There were flashes of light being cascaded over the backs of Hermione's eyelids, and she was pulled to her feet quite suddenly and was thrown onto the plush sofa, a knife at her throat.

" _ENOUGH!_ ", cried Bellatrix.

At once everyone turned to the sound of the voice emanating from being Hermione. "Why don't we put out wants down now. Savvy?", spoke Bellatrix, a smile in her voice. Ron and Harry looked to each other, unsure. Bellatrix only pushed deeper into Hermione's neck, allowing blood to seep out across her knife. The clatter of wood hitting the floor, broke the little hope that had dared to build in Hermione's chest. Just then, Bellatrix used a voice that resembled some form of twisted affection, as she addressed the newest addition to the room, "Draco. How nice of you to join us."

Hermione looked up to the grand staircase where Draco Malfoy stood paused, his hand resting lightly on the white bannister. He was taller than she remembered, and thin. His white hair was no longer gelled back, instead left uncut with slight wisps falling across his face. A face that had brought her so much torment and hate in years previous. But now, she tried searching his face for a sign of recognition, one of understanding. She searched for some memory of the boy they had gone to school with for six years. What she found was to be expected, an arrogant, lopsided smirk settled on his face as he looked over the scene below him.

And then came his smooth, drawling voice, "Aunt Bella, what kind of trouble have we stirred up here?".

"Call The Dark Lord, Draco. It is time. Harry Potter is alive- though not for much longer. And in our presence! We must celebrate by our leaders side. Call him Draco.'

At this Malfoy paused for a fraction of a second, clearly not pleased with receiving orders from his aunt. He recovered smoothly, placing another crooked smile onto his face as he pushed back his sleeve and pressed upon something on his arm, unseen from Hermione's angle.

 _CRACK!_

Dobby appeared on the scene, snapping his fingers, drawing wands from Narcissa's and Lucius's outstretched hands. With another deafening _CRACK!_ , Dobbie had Harry and Ron's wands in back in hand and he stood between them, one hand on either of their pant legs. Hermione sat, knife still at her throat, eyes pleading to Harry. But she knew it was no use. Voldemort had already learned of his presence, and would soon be on his way. Harry had to escape, and this was his opportunity. Dobby would have to come back for her.

Just then, the pressure of the knife again her neck was lifted as Bellatrix drew back her arm, and spun the weapon forward, sending into the house elf's chest.

 _CRACK!_ Dobby, Harry, and Ron were gone. Bellatrix let out a cackle of delight.

The boys had gone, but so was her knife, embedded into the chest of a House Elf with mismatched socks. Hermione felt her eyes brim with tears, but she was careful not to let them spill over. She wiped her eyes, mourning the elf who had saved her friends. Then she mourned for her own fate, as she knew; no one would be coming back for her.

•••

 **End of chapter 1. Please review, I love the feedback, good or bad.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Gill here. Fun things: all my chapter names are from Florence and the Machine music titles. Keeps my inspiration juice flowin'. Enjoy, and please review!**

 **Chapter 2: Remain Nameless**

•••

A lot of time had passed. Months… maybe a year. Hermione often thought of what could have taken place during the time of her sentence. She had kept track of the days in the beginning, scratches along the wall every time she was given a meal- which was usually once between sleeps. During one of the many visits to her cell, her calendar had been _scourgified_ from the wall by one of Voldemort's death eaters. Now there was no way to tell how many days had passed. This was one way they tried to break her, by allowing her to lose herself in the days and nights of total darkness. The only moments she was allowed to see, were when she kept her eyes most tightly shut. When the death eaters visited the Manor, they often stole visits to her cell. Sometimes to inflict pain, and sometimes for other, more sinister acts. Her cell was not small, measuring ten large paces in both length and width, allowing her lots of room to move around. There was a low ceiling, within reach if Hermione stretched her arms above her head.

There were few other prisoners kept in the cellar, and none would last as long as she would. Muggleborns and blood traitors were often thrown down here, considered to be of no value or merit. They were discarded easily if the death eaters were found to be in a foul mood. They were not given their own individual cells. This meant they stayed chained to the floor, day and night. The younger, prettier girls, were visited often, typically dragged away, screaming, to somewhere more private upstairs. Hermione at first thought herself lucky as she was not condemned to the same fate as the others. She was valuable, a tool against Harry Potter and the Order. For a long while, she was left untouched by the death eaters paying visits to the basement. But as time passed, her importance to the war was slowly forgotten. This allowed for some of Voldemort's followers to grow bolder. Instead when they visited the Manor cellar, they would not just stop upon some pretty girl. Soon they started to take notice of Hermione too.

At first, it was just a passing curse, or harsh word. But it was not long before they learned to open her cell door, intrigued by what lay behind it. Soon Hermione realized she was not lucky at all. Her fellow captors had short sentences, then were released to death. Hermione was not given such a choice. She was condemned to this torture for life.

There were eight others who currently shared the cold manor basement with Hermione, all chained along the floor of the cavernous room. Hermione was the only prisoner confined to her own cell. She only knew of one, and old man, who had been there for quite a time now. Hermione made a point not to speak to the others. In the beginning, they had been her provided her with comfort. She had learned their names, and had asked about their family's and learned about their homes. But quickly, she had learned her mistake. The prisoners down here did not live long. They were brought down here to die, not one left alive. Hermione forged bonds with people who shared her prison, then had to endure their deaths, one at a time.

The old man who sat chained outside her cell was the exception. Although frail and thin, Tomlin had survived for quite some time. Hermione never spoke to the man, but she could not block out his voice, or the sounds of the others. Tomlin was a storyteller by nature, and would always have a tale to lift the spirits of the crowd. Many of the guards did not pay him much notice. It was a mystery as to why he was imprisoned at all.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door to the cellar opening. She heard the shuffle of feet as someone made their way down the stairs to the uneven stone floor of the basement.

It was Rodolphus Lestrange. He had been staying close to The Dark Lord's side for a fortnight, living above in one of the Manors guestrooms. He came by every few nights, as he'd taken a liking to one of the younger, more attractive muggle-borns. She was a few years older than Hermione, but you wouldn't know it. She was barely five feet tall, maybe a hundred pounds. She had grown thin in the weeks she'd been here.

As Rodolphus exited the stairwell doorway, there was simultaneous movement as the prisoners tried to shuffle backwards, cowering into smaller versions of themselves, trying to avoid notice. It made no difference, Rodolphus only had eyes for one. He walked with purpose towards the smallest of the huddled figures, kneeled by her, and extended his hand. He was always kinder at first. Winning over the hearts of his victims before taking them elsewhere to have his way with them. He had a plastic smile on his face as he spoke, "Come now, there's no reason to hide. That's it, good girl. Up you get."

With a wave of his wand her chains fell to the ground and she rose shakily to her feet. If you were to examine the minute details of the girls face, you would see her suffering in the form of a small cut above her right eye that was taking it's time to heal, or the stains of tears recently fallen. But Hermione chose to not look. Instead her eyes were cast down, much like the other prisoners who shared her cell. No one wanted to witness what was happening, knowing full well the girl's fate. Rodolphus led the girl towards the exit, pausing at the foot of the stairs, casting a weary glance over the remaining muggle-borns and blood traitors, looking for some sign of insubordination. Clearly satisfied with the dejected, and hopeless atmosphere, Rodulfus turned and began making his way up the stairs, all the while pulling a shivering and terrified girl behind him.

•••

The girl wasn't to return until the next morning, as was usual. It was also not uncommon for her to feature extra bruises or cuts, covering every inch of exposed skin. No one would ask her for the events of the night passed, most of it could be left to the imagination. They were used to the sound of Death Eaters boasting about their conquests from the manor hallways. Most of what transpired upstairs could be heard in echoes from the cellar below if spoken loud enough.

Hermione's cell was furthest from the staircase, but this had its advantages. When she pushed herself all the way up the south facing wall, she could position herself below the open air vent. Here she could listen to most any communication in the front parlour, where the inner circle of Lord Voldemort routinely met. This only became problematic when the screams of whomever was being punished would echo all the way down into Hermione's cell, keeping her awake and aware of someone's pain for hours on end. This was bothersome in the beginning, but by now she had hardened to it. Hermione wondered often during those sleepless nights if she might by chance know the person who was suffering at the hand of Lord Voldemort. It was not unlikely, as she knew many members of The Order personally. But it was also true that Voldemort had an equal passion for disciplining his followers as he did punishing his enemies. The screams that could be heard from her cell could just as easily belong to one of the men or women who had put her here in this very cellar. That, at least, was something she could draw comfort from.

Hermione was drifting off to sleep, huddled tightly under her faded green cargo windbreaker. She pulled the collar up tighter around her shoulders while hooking her arm under her to cradle her head. Hermione did not like sleep. She hated the way her subconscious seemed to be imprisoned, much like her body. When her eyes fluttered shut, she would not often dream of Harry and Ron, Ginny or her parents. Instead she would dream of dark hallways that seemed to extend indefinitely, no ways to exit. There was black, marble tiling beneath her feet, much like the floor of the manor. She would pass portraits on the wall that were frozen, and unmoving like photos from the muggle world. She used to believe the dreams were signs, illustrations of what was occurring in real life. When she first found peace in sleep, there would only be a door in her dream. For several nights she would try to pry the steel trap open, her fingers bloodied and nails broken in the process. When she would wake, her body would be fatigued, her fingers equally disfigured as in the dream. Often she could find the traces of blood and scratches along her stone walls, as if she were trying to dig her way out. Soon the dream shifted, she could easily open the door, but all that lay behind it was a wall. She would pound at the wall until the palms of her hands bruised, and her toes purpled from kicking. Time passed, and this wall opened to a room, with no windows or doors. This was no different from the prison she spent her days in, her dreams offered no escape. Recently, the room had been replaced by the long hallway. All Hermione could remember of her dreams the following morning, were the echoes of her steps as she walked furthur and furthur down the stretch of hallway, always waking before reaching the end.

It was during one of these dreams that Hermione was woken suddenly, by the screams of someone above her. She was running down the hallway, as she did during nights of restless sleep, when suddenly, she found herself back in her own body, huddled under Malfoy manor, very much awake, and alert. She pushed herself up, discovering the arm she had been using to support her head was asleep. Then came the sound she had been dreading;

"Please My Lord, I- I- AGHHHHHHH"

It was as Hermione had feared, Lord Voldemort had returned to the manor that evening, and was angry. Hermione could not hope to feel pity for whichever death eater was suffering at the hand of Lord Voldemort, she had ceased to care for the sounds of pain over time. She stood slowly, and moved to the corner below the air duct leaning her shoulders back onto the smooth, flat surface. Her head was throbbing from having only slept a few hours. The cries from whomever was above echoed in her ears, increasing the painful pressure behind her eyes. Then the cold, hard voice of The Dark Lord came. His voice was always soft and quiet, but still managed to make Hermione's lungs fill with ice, and her stomach drop like stone.

"Lucius, this is not the first time your actions, or the actions of your family, have severely handicapped the progress of our union."

Lucius replied as though struggling shakily between breaths, "My Lord, please. I beg of you, mercy in this. She did not know what she was doing. She thought only of her son."

"She LIED", his voice rose with anger, and he proceeded to release another curse, " _CRUCIO!"._

This time the cries were preceded by the thump of Lucius's body hitting the floor. Wicked laughs passed around the death eaters, their cackles reaching Hermione's hears. She thought it almost humorous too, how quickly the mighty could fall. Here the death eaters were, gathered in the grand and exquisite Malfoy Manor, to celebrate the torturing of the head of the Malfoy family. Lucius was no longer the ministry official who reigned terror over the wizarding community. Now he was a man sprawled on the floor of his own estate, paying for his crimes in blood.

"I am disappointed in you Lucius. Your inability to control Narcissa, and failure to understand where her true loyalties lie cost us all today. Potter is _alive_ due to your family's corrupt and weak stature."

This jolted Hermione, sending alarm signals all throughout her body. Harry was alive. All this time had passed, but he was still fighting, hopefully with Ron by his side.

Lord Voldemort continued, unaware of who was listening eagerly six feet under, "I have been pleased with young Draco's talents over the past few months. He's become quite an asset to our company- would you not all agree?"

There was a general murmur in the crowd, confirming his words, then came the high drawl of Bellatrix, "Perhaps, more of an asset, then his father". This sent another quiet hush of words through the assembled death eaters.

Lucius's voice came out pleading now, "Please, My Lord, Draco is young. He will not achieve as much without the guidance of- of his father.. his mother! How Draco cares for his mother. He-"

Voldemort cut him off with a wave of his wand. "Enough. I tend to agree with Bellatrix. You've worn out your use." He turned on Lucius, "Perhaps your son will achieve far greater success out from under the weight of your embarrassments Lucius. How many years is the young Draco now, Bellatrix?"

"Near twenty, My Lord."

There was a brief pause, a moment of tense anticipation Hermione could feel from her cell, and then Lucius cut in once more, with a voice steadier than Hermione would have been able to produce, in his place.

"And my wife?", he asked. "What of Narcissa. Do I pay for her crimes today, my lord? She lied to you, not to protect the life of Harry Potter, but to protect the life of our son. Will you spare her my lord. Will you allow me to pay for her mistake?"

The silence that followed was palpable. Hermione felt a stroke of sadness in her heart, feeling closer to Harry in this moment than she had in a long time. Within reach. It remained unclear how Narcissa had managed to save him, but allowed a moment of respect for the death eaters wife.

Voldemort then began to laugh, the hacking giggles of Bellatrix also sounding through the cavernous basement. "Narcissa is dead. Did you think I would spare her?", without pausing to acknowledge Lucius's grief, he continued, "Now where is Draco? It's time for him to join us."

•••

Draco did not miss the vacant, hollow feeling of the Manor. There was a reason he had not returned since leaving Hogwarts. Once The Dark Lord and the death eaters had settled into the mansion, it had lost all home-like appeal. Draco thought back to the last Christmas break he's spent here, in seventh year. On new year's eve, he'd woken to the sounds of a woman screaming in protest as she was raped in the guest room across the hall. Yaxley had had his way with several women during those two weeks home. This was about the time when Narcissa refused to stay at the Manor any longer, preferring the downtown Partridge Sq. flat, tucked in behind Diagon Alley- another Malfoy property. Draco sat at the edge of his four-poster bed, looking out at the ornate, gold-framed mirror that hung on his wall. He examined his reflection, looking for any signs of weakness. He'd have to regain his composure if he were to present himself in front of the council of death eaters waiting below for him. A few hours ago he'd seen his mother die.

She was a cold woman- not the type of mother to coddle or cook pies. She was a proud elegant witch, never a hair out of place, or a crease in her shirt unpressed. She had many faults, but she had loved her son unconditionally. It was with great pains that Draco realized, there was no one left alive who cared for him. If the screams emanating from the floor below were any indication, whatever twisted sentiments his father held for him would soon be dead too.

Draco pulled himself up and took several confidant strides towards the mirror. He smirked at his reflection, the lopsided smile giving him confidence that perhaps his pain would go unnoticed. No one with a heart could so easily dismiss the deaths of their parents, but Draco preferred to be seen this way. Many of his peers from school thought him a cruel and bitter wizard. He couldn't dispute their claims. He had built a reputation over the past year, torturing many of The Dark Lord's victims, trying to obtain information on the Order. He had been successful, only failing once to achieve the particulars he sought after. This was only forgiven by the Dark Lord after he had endured a long string of Cruciatus curses. Draco winced painfully as another cry of agony ripped from his father's throat. He had seen a man throw up each of his major organs before being allowed to die. He had seen the Dark Lord pull a woman's lungs out from her breast and rest them upon her shoulders while she lay alive and trembling. He could cope with the tormented wails of his father.

He was granted another minute or two of mournful silence before his bedroom door swung open, the family house elf Digip came hobbling in.

"Good evening young master Draco." He said, in his surprisingly deep and husky voice, much unlike the usual house elf's, "Your presence is requested in the front parlour."

Draco let out the shaky breath he'd been holding onto. He took one last look into the mirror pushing the hair out if his eyes. He straightened tall, then spun on his heel and swiftly exited the room, down to where his father hopefully already lay dead.

He walked down the hallway, pausing at the head of the stairs, hoping to catch a glance of the scene below before being spotted. His father lay crumpled to the floor off to the side- still breathing. The parlour was filled with every member of The Dark Lord's inner circle. Draco looked over them with a look of disgust on his face. Although many were masked and heavily clocked, Draco could pick out every witch and wizard in the room. The Lestranges, Roddy and Bella, sat closest to the Dark Lord. _Odd,_ he thought. Draco could have sworn he had witnessed Rodolphus dragging some innocent girl up to his room earlier. That typically kept him and his wife occupied throughout the night. Then the Zabini's, close friends to the Malfoys. Draco's scowl deepened as he saw Malefice, Blaise's mother, purposefully avoiding looking at the limp form of Lucius Malfoy. Draco remembered his mother and father holding Malefice's hand as she sobbed hysterically, comforting her, not a fortnight ago. She had just received news of Blaise's death at the time. The Dark Lord held severe punishments for deserters. But now she stood aloof, as though her dearest friends weren't being condemned to death.

It had been a tough war and today was supposed mark the end of it. They had attacked the school upon learning that Harry Potter was inside. Draco couldn't understand for the life of him why they would go back to Hogwarts. He must have known he would be found out immediately. It had been almost two years since he'd last seen Potter, and it had been from the very spot where he stood now. Draco cast an inward sigh, then made his way down the grand staircase, fixing an unreadable expression on to his face.

The Dark Lord rose from his seat upon his entrance. "Draco, my boy", he began. "Come. Sit."

Draco approached the tall slender figure of Lord Voldemort, but remained standing. '"Draco, may I ask something of you?"

"Yes, my Lord, anything."

"Do you see your father there?"

"Yes my Lord."

"He has acted a fool today. Do you believe he should be punished for his actions?"

"Yes my Lord. I believe my father should be punished as any of us would be. If we wrong you, we must repent."

"I believe you and I are quite similar in that regard. You understand what must be done in order to obtain our goal. The weak must be discarded, the unloyal must be struck down."

Bile rose in Draco's throat at The Dark Lords remark. How he despised any comparison that could be made between himself and his _Lord_. He retained a neutral expression as dread began to creep it's way up his spine. He knew what was coming next. He could see several steps ahead already. His father would be punished for his mother's crimes today. The Dark Lord would offer Draco an opportunity to prove his worth, his loyalty, in the ony way Lord Voldemort could understand. He would ask Draco to kill his father; the ultimate tribute and sacrifice.

With this one action, Draco would be guaranteed a spot in The Dark Lord's inner circle, the Malfoy name would be brought back into society's good graces. Draco would regain control of the Manor estate, something Lucius had left to waste in recent months. There was no choice. If Draco were to refuse, someone else would simply take his place. He cursed internally, frustrated at his inability to think a way out of this situation. He look towards the broken figure of his father, still resting on the floor. How pitiful he looked. A man who had struck fear into Draco's heart throughout his entire childhood. A man who had driven away his wife and son, filled with so much hatred in one lifetime. Draco felt no pity for this man. The frustration and apprehension was replaced with a disgust for his father. He placed his hand deep into the pocket of his robes, firmly grasping the handle of his wand. Draco steeled his eyes into a hardened expression as he rose his eyes to meet the serpent gaze of Lord Voldemort.

"Yes, my Lord. The weak and disloyal have no place here."

•••

 **End of chapter 2!**

 **This is my first fanfic so please rip into it with you teeth. Practice makes perfect! Criticism is welcome.**

 **Ps. I know my grammar gets a little spotty here and there (I really really don't know how to use commas) so feel free to correct me!**

 **Thanks.**

 **TheBookmarkPeople.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Between Two Lungs**

•••

The door to the cellar opened and two sets of feet slowly stumbled down the stairs. The girl that was dragged away earlier that evening walked into the cavernous room, eyes cast down. The Death Eater that brought her down paused out of sight behind the doorway. She was shoved forward, and tumbled to the ground upon catching her food on the uneven floor. She went and took her usual seat at the foot of a pillar central to the room. A flash of platinum blonde hair could be seen in the doorway then the sound of the cellar door, slamming shut behind them.

Tomlin spoke up, "Alice? Are ye' alright hen?".

 _So that was her name,_ Hermione thought to herself.

A long stretch of silence followed before Alice's high voice came out as barely a whisper, "Yes. I'm fine."

An idea struck Hermione as she jumped to her feet and pressed herself against her bars, trying to catch a closer look at Alice's feet.

"Alice-", Hermione stopped, seeing the look of incredulity on the girl's face when her head snapped up to the sound of her name. Hermione suppressed a grimace. She was well aware of how she kept to herself, and did not make a habit of addressing her cell mates by name. She preferred the anonymity of it all. But the shock on Alice's face resonated with Hermione as she realized just how estranged she had become of her cell mates.

"Alice, you're feet, look at your feet. They haven't tied you up, have they Alice?". She couldn't stop using the poor girls name.

The stutter had returned in Alice's voice, "Y- yes. Th-that's right. He said I wouldn't them anymore."

"When? Just now 'e said that?" Tomlin interjected. There was an edge of excitement to his voice.

"No, earlier. Wh-when he came to get me."

"Why? What did 'e mean, 'ye' wouldn't need 'em anymore'?"

"He just said w-we'd all be leaving soon. Everyone w-wou-wouldn't be welcome here anymore." Alice cleary didn't do well under interrogation.

There was a soft, collective intake of breath across the room. Hermione felt the anticipation in her stomach turning to dread. " 'Not welcome here anymore'...?, she mused to herself.

The clinking of chains could be heard as Tomlin dragged himself across the cave ground, stretching himself further towards the poor girl, huddles at the foot of the towering cellar beam. 'What- well… what _exactly_ did he say Alice?". The hesitation in his voice was transparent.

Alice sniffed. "He said that this was his house now, it'd been given to him. And h-he said everyone would b-be moving somewhere else. He came and got me from-". Her voice broke, tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Awh, everthin' will be quite alright there lassie. This could be good news."

Hermione leaned back from the cold metal bars, sliding back to the soft and rotten floor, deep in thought, listing all the facts she had managed to wrap her head around. So Lucius Malfoy was dead, and someone had already replaced him. The conditions of their prisonment were never odious under Lucius. While The Dark Lord and his inner circle used the manor as their main headquarters, leading to a constant stream of Death Eaters in and out, Lucius had little to do with his basement prisoners. Some of the younger girls who passed through the manor shared stories from the homes of other powerful pureblooded families, and their tales always seemed to out-do the next on a barbaric scale. Who's to say the next family to be given the honour of the manor wouldn't be even more abhorrent and cruel?

She looked out among the others who shared her cell, many of whom had curled off and attempted sleep. Hermione hated the night time. It really couldn't possibly get any darker in the cellar, but somehow there was a collective period of the night where each prisoner drifted off to sleep. Often what waited for Hermione, were the nightmares. More often than not, she would wake screaming, salt tear stains down her face, finger nails bloodied from attacking the cold hard rock wall of her cell. There was no rest in sleep.

Hermione felt sick as she realized a faint glimmer of hope was beginning to grow deep in her stomach. Recently, she had begun to long for death. Hermione was tired, but still hadn't given up completely. She pushed that glimmer of hope so far down, repressing it. A steeled feeling of determination stole her. She began to draw deep breaths, as she mulled over the words she had repeated to herself so many times.

 _So long as there is breath between my lungs, and blood in my veins._

 _So long as there is breath between my lungs and blood in my veins._

 _So long as there is breath between my lungs and blood in my veins._

Hermione eyes slowly fluttered closed, the air around her going black as she descended into her subconscious.

•••

Hermione was on a soft bed, covered in warm sheets and a duvet. She'd been brought upstairs by Quincy Nott, confined to his bedroom for the evening. She was exhausted, having spent what felt like hours fighting off Nott. She was lying still, frozen, under a _Percificus Totallus_ curse. Once he was finished with her, he liked to leave her this way; exposed, bruised, and broken, He would leave the door to his bedroom open, showing off his latest conquest. Hermione knew it was a affirmation of power. Every few months he would drag her out of her cell, screaming. He would have his way with her, then parade her body like a trophy mounted on the fireplace. On this particular day, her head lay frozen in a way where she could just see out the doorway, watching people pass by the room . She was unsure which was more miserable, the shame and embarrassment of when they paused, leering in the doorway, looking over her body, sometimes shaking their head in disbelief at Nott's audacity to go after the Gryffindor mudblood, other times looking at her straight in the eye, winking at her as if suggesting they'd have their turn next. Or perhaps it was when they didn't look at all, unfazed by her, as her lowly mudblood status wasn't even worth considering. Some wouldn't cast her naked body a second glance.

It was then, lying atop Quincy's bed, covered in his sweat and her own shame, she began to regain feeling in her fingers. Her hands began to twitch, then her arms began to quake also. The curse was lifting! Hermione spend the next half hour pulling at her limbs, trying to regain strength in her core without being discovered. She would freeze at the sound of approaching footsteps, steadying her breath while repressing the involuntary fearful trembling. Eventually, her limbs seemed to be able to handle a basic range in motion. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed, collapsing off the edge into a heap of sheets and duvet on the floor. She shakily rose to her feet, clutching the sheets tight to her body, one arm extended for balance. Quincy could be back at any moment, in fact, she didn't understand why he hadn't already paid her a visit to shove her back into her cell. As Hermione attempted to take a step forward, she stumbled forward, her legs weak, and tangled in the sheets pooled around her feet. She caught herself on the bedside table, pulling out Quincy's drawer and all of its contents on top of her.

She felt the cloudiness behind her eyes lifting slowly, the adrenaline of escape pumping through her veins. She looked in from of her, looking at anything she could use. A wand, would most obviously be the desired choice. Hermione hadn't practiced any serious magic since she'd been left by Dobby and the other all those months ago. Something long, flat and silver caught her eye. As she picked it up to more closely examine it, the sharp edge of the straight razor caught her finger. She led out a soft yelp dropping the blade to the floor as blood began to seep slowly out of the long slit in her index finger.

Just then she heard the familiar voiced of Quincy Nott, and Roddy Lestrange coming down the hall.

'That's the third prisoner we've lost in the past fortnight. Nott, I don't like the way this is being handled- if your son is unfit, _you_ step in. He's too soft to be handling investigation.'

'Rodolphus, you shouldn't speak poorly of the Dark Lord's methods, or my sons. So he's found his way into the inner circle, maybe you're just upset becuase your wife is on the welcoming committee.'

Just as they seemed close enough to turn into the doorway and catch Hermione on the floor, there was a scuffle and the thud of Quincy being shoved up against the wall. Hermione took this moment to scuttle back to her side of the room, she looked back to the straight razor in her hand, making up her mind.

'Watch your tongue Quincy, if you knew what was good for you'

'No need to take offense _Roddy_ ,' The smile could be heard in Quincy's voice as he rolled the ' _R'_ in Rodolphus's nickname, 'We really appreciate your Bellatrix being so _giving_ to the new recruits. Chin up there, perhaps, once you work your way back into the Dark Lord's favor, you'll finally find yourself in her bed again!' Quincy shoved Rodolphus off of him, sneering all the while. "Get out of here Roddy, I have things to do."

Quincy entered the room, finding Hermione frozen on the bed, mixed in a pool of sheets, just as he left her. 'Ah, my dear. I almost forgot about you. I've had a rather _trying_ evening. Perhaps you can help me work off some of this tension.'

He pulled his wand from his robes, casting a silencing charm on the room, and swinging the door shut. He pulled Hermione's body across the bed, bending her over the edge of the bed frame, still believing her to be paralyzed. He didn't seem to notice how the sheets pulled with her, concealing her right hand too well.

He unzipped his pants, pulled out his thick member, and gently began pulling on it. One hand was on Hermione's waist, pulling her closer to him when all of a sudden Hermione flipped around, pulling her right hand from the covers, where the straight razor remained clenched tightly in her palm. She sank the blade deeply into his gut. She hadn't had enough strength to puncture all the way through, but she'd made her mark. His blood began to pour over her, smothering her. She looked up into his face but instead saw her own eyes staring back at her.

Hermione drew in a sharp gasp, the razor clattering from her hand onto the floor. The figure above her changed again, and she was looking into the eyes of Harry, his eyes bloodshot and white, his skin taught and pale from the blood loss.

"Harry!, Oh Godric, Harry please- I'm so sorry. I didn't- I mean I don't," she stuttered as she slowly lowered his body to the floor. The blood was pouring out faster now, as as she moved to put pressure on the wound she saw a flash of red hair.

It was Ron now, and he slowly lifted a blood stained hand to her cheek, cradling her face as softly as you would care for a wounded bird. Hermione leaned in close, nuzzling her sobs into the crook of Ron's neck, "I'm so sorry Ron, I'm s-so sorr-"

A thick hand grasped the back of Hermione's hair, pulling her head up. She was looking back into the merciless and smirking eyes of Quincy Nott. He wrapped one hand around her throat, lifting her up off the floor and pushing her naked body against the wall. The room started to darken, Hermione clawed at Quincy's arm, kicking her legs out against him. Everything was dark.

' _Hermione!"_ She could hear someone calling out. " _HERMIONE!",_ it came again, this time much louder.

Hermione woke with a start. Her voice was hoarse, a sign she had been screaming. She let out a shallow break, and began clenching and unclenching her muscles, trying to slow down the shivering. Tomlin's voice cut through the silence in a soft, gentle tone, "It was just a dream there hen, no need to pay 'er any mind."

Hermione nodded, so he knew she had listened to him. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at the pale rock ceiling, picturing instead she was looking up at the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. She wished with all her bones that Tomlin's words could soothe her. But Tomlin was wrong, it wasn't all a dream. It was a memory.

•••

It was past midnight, and raining. Draco never minded the cold, it meant peace and quiet. The rain was settling on the shoulders of his roves, rolling off in thick beads, hitting the earth hard. The rain was nice too. It added to the cold, and drowned out any noise that was left. He walked along the stone path leading up to the back greenhouses. Over the past year, the glass roof had become a sanctuary of some sorts. The gardens had been a wedding gift to Draco's mother from Lucius, and as everything is in the Malfoy family, they were extravagant.

There were four wings leading off of the centre glass rotunda, known as The Observatory _._ The four wings extended like a compass, north, south, east, and west. A loft had initially been put in place for the gameskeeper, but the manor would no longer need a gameskeeper- or any staff for that matter. This was wear Draco was headed. With a wave of his hand, he passed through the gates and into the loft. It was small, and musty. There were empty beer bottles, and grass turf covering every available surface. A copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ \- a muggle book, sat on the bedside table. Draco took a few steps into the room and looked up through the glass dome rotunda ceiling. The whole room was illuminated by moonlight, and by the close, bright-burning stars. It smelled of piss, hay and fertilizer. Draco pulled his wand from his pocket, twelve inch elm wood, unicorn hair core- his late mothers. His grip tightened on the wand, as he once again examined his surroundings, allowing a small smile to settle on his face. It would take some work.

He waved his wand, _scourgifying_ all remains of the previous gameskeeper. Spell after charm after incantation was cast. In the morning, he would be able to move his bed and furniture over. He let out a sigh of relief and sunk into the creaky double bed. Looks like he'd be spending the night there. He'd be damned if he had to spend another minute living in his father's manor. _My manor_ \- he mentally correct.

He thought of the muggles living down of the cellar. Draco sneered in disgust. The poor girl he'd had to pull Roddy off of just a few short hours ago was barely 18. They couldn't stay under his roof for long- couldn't. They'd all be sent off to some other pureblooded family in good favour with the Dark Lord. Except for _her._ She'd bloody be here until the end of time if the Dark Lord had his way.

The manor was a fortress, even Draco couldn't deny this. Impossible to penetrate, the manor offered more defenses than Azkaban- save the Dementors. Draco tried to dismiss these thoughts. He wanted to sleep peacefully tonight, and he wouldn't be able to do so if he thought of the mudblood. She often found her way into Draco's dreams.

Draco frowned and looked up at the open night sky above him, right away spotting Cassiopeia tucked in beside the Big dipper. His eyes slowly fluttered closed, giving him way to sleep.

•••

 **Woohoooo reviews are always great! Gimme some feedback/direction/correction you name it!**

 **Gill**


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione woke up to the sound of Tomlin softly snoring. The rest of the cave remained silent. It was completely empty. The past fortnight had been filled with her cell mates disappearing one by one, shipped off to other pureblooded families to act as servants. As of this morning, only Tomlin remained. She doubted anyone would have a need for the old man. Hermione frowned as she pondered the likelihood of him living much longer. His face was sunken into hollow lines, his skin yellow in the low light. Every breath appeared laboured and unsteady. M

It made sense that Hermione would stay here. The fortification of the Manor was significant. It also felt like a new level of purgatory as the loneliness of her new isolated prison stretched out before her. Although she chose not to associate a ton with her fellow cellmates, they had at least provided distraction on the days when her anxious thoughts were too loud to ignore. Tomlin's stories would fill the room, tales from The Beetle and The Bard. She had read the book so many times through she knew the words practically by heart. Yet when Tomlin brought the words to life, the story felt new and exciting each and every time.

Now the caves were quiet save the echoes of Tomlin's snore hitting off the cold stone walls.

One thing Hermione didn't miss, were the sounds from the manor itself. By now the Death Eaters had relocated somewhere more central to London. The Manor has changed. Hermione felt it as she drifted off to sleep and it was the first thing she noticed in the morning. There was a difference in the air. A new silence or peace to the household. Hermione couldn't decide whether to dread this change, or to take comfort from it. She stretched out along the damp floor, pulling at the muscles between her ribs. There were kinks and knots she feared would never leave her alone.

Hermione pulled herself up, casting a glance at the near-empty tin of porridge she'd forced down for dinner the night prior. There was just a little remaining in the bottom. Her stomach growled in hunger, but she had no interest in the soggy oats. Oh how she longed for a cup of fresh pumpkin juice.

 _~ Crack! ~_

The sound ricocheted off every surface, making it loud and earsplitting.

Hermione threw herself to her feet, her heart pounding as she peered out to the darkness beyond her cell, looking for the source of the sound. Then, the sound of an old deep crinkly voice stirred up from behind her, not two feet away.

"I've been asked to escort you upstairs. You will be relocated to a room in the east wing."

Hermione spun around in shock as she cast her eyes downward to the small figure crouched below her. It was the Malfoy's house elf. Her heart sunk as the house elf's words hit, and she realized what was about to occur. She had thought that this was over. All of the Death Eaters had left. She thought she could truly be forgotten down here, no longer be a token for them to toy with.

Tomlin began to stir outside of her cell, his figure shifting on the floor, a low moan rising up from him.

"Hermione, whats all this ruckus", said Tomlin in a sleepy haze.

"No n-need to worry," replied Hermione in a quiet voice. She took a deep inhale, trying to rationalize her own dread for the situation. She was being taken upstairs which was never a good thing.

The elf began to repeat itself, "You're being relocated to a room in the east wing."

He then wobbled over the cage door which swung open as he approached it without even so much as a flick of the wrist. He crossed the low lit basement, pausing in the doorway. He turned back to where Hermione stood frozen in her cell, and made an impatient gesture at her to follow.

Hermione forced her legs to start working, taking one small step at a time until she began crossing the uneven stone floor. The house elf, appearing satisfied with her movement began climbing the stairs, hopping up them with some difficulty. Hermione followed, keeping her eyes cast down, her hands ringing out her shirt nervously. She wasn't surprised by the lack of chains. A house elf's wandless magic was far superior to that of a wizard. She knew she had no where to run.

True to his word, the house elf headed into the east wing, picking up his pace. Hermione was keeping up easily with the elf's short legs, and stopped short as he took a sharp left into an open set of double doors. Hermione has never spent a great amount of time in the east wing. The majority of the guest rooms that Death Eaters used were found in the west. To her limited knowledge, the family and estate rooms made up this part of the manor. Hermione peered around the corner and was blinded by the bright morning light piercing through a dozen windows around the room. There were dark green curtains framing each window that had been pulled back, letting natural sunlight fill up the room. There were massive pieces ghastly tapestry hanging from the ceiling, depicting images of conquering armies and soldiers fighting, covered in blood. Just the type of artwork to befit the Malfoy household.

The house elf drew her attention away, "There are shirts and bottoms for you on the bed Ms. Granger. I think they'll all fit nicely, I picked out the selection myself."

Hermione was startled by the elfs tone. As she turned to face the elf, she notices he was smiling politely at her. She was bewildered to say the least.

Hermione cast a surreptitious glance at the bed, where several pairs of silk trousers lay in varying colours of soft pinks and sultry greens. There was also a small collection of camisoles, each a complimenting shade to the pants they lay next to. A large fluffy white robe was hung from one of the bed's rafter hooks. She stole another uneasy look towards the elf who was looking at her expectantly.

"What am I doing here," Hermione demanded, in a harsher tone than intended for the poor elf.

The grin on his face faded slightly at her words. "Why this is where you'll be staying. The cellar is much too dark and musty for living, yes? The Master of the house wanted you to be comfortable."

"Is this some sort of sick joke?", Hermione demanded. She walked swiftly over to one of the windows, throwing it open to the breeze outside. It was in the heat of summer time. Hermione let in a deep breath as her eyes brimmed with tears. She hadn't felt the outside air in quite some time. She flexed her hands tightly into fists to avoid the shaking that had overcome her hands. Some Death Eater intended to put her up in a fancy room like some puppet. It made her feel sick.

The house elf padded up behind her and placed his small palm on her shoulder. "I've worked in this household quite some time Ms. Granger. I've seen things in this house turn darker than they have been in decades. But things are changing Mr. Granger. Worry less, things will be different now. The Master of the house has been living out in the greenhouses for some time. It's just the Mr. Granger, myself and the wizard downstairs who'll be moved elsewhere in the house soon." When Hermione failed to answer, Diggip switched tactics. "Hows about a cup of tea?"

Hermione glanced up at the elf and nodded slowly, a new look of determination on her face. She wouldn't let this Death Eater confuse her with kind gestures. Hermione knew better. Soon enough she'd be back in her cell or suffering at the hands of whatever wizard had taken over the Malfoy estate. That didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy a cup of tea when it was offered.

She followed Diggip out of the room and down to the kitchen. The house elf boiled some water and poured it into a large ornate marble teapot filled with some loose leaf camomile. As the tea steeped, Hermione took time to study the grounds that covered as far as the eye could see. Diggip chatted on about all the sections of the house that were closed down as the Dark Lord and his followers had moved on, about the rose garden in the from of the house that had succumbed to the hot sun and needed to be watered, and about what time his Master would be home from Diagonalley- Hermione snapped out of daze and whirled on Diggip.

"What's the name of the new Wizard who's taken over the estate? Who is this Master you keep referring to?"

Diggip glanced up to Hermione, perplexed at her sudden berating. "Why this is Mr. Malfoys estate now Ms. Granger. You would have been at Hogwarts at the same time, two years ago now."

Hermione felt her stomach flip as memories surfaced. Old faded memories, ones with a picturesque Hogwarts in the background, teasing and taunting on the front lawn. Then some that were more recent; Malfoy looking at her as she lay twisted and broken on the floor. Hermione's cheeks flushed as she remember the disgusted sneer that had painted his face as he walked away. Then later, the flash of platinum that had pulled her down to the cell she would spend the next several months in. She'd been barely conscious and felt as though every bone in her body was on fire. Hermione remembered Malfoy setting her on the cold floor, pausing only long enough to look over the letters that had been carved into her arm by Bellatrix earlier that evening.

Diggip took notice of the sudden fear in Hermiones eyes. "Not to worry Ms. Granger. Mr. Malfoy is very rarely at the manor. Even less so does he visit the house. Mostly keeps to himself in the greenhouses."

Hermione let out the breath she'd be holding in her lungs and allowed herself, for the briefest of moments, to miss her cell and the quiet stillness it offered.

•••

A fortnight passed, and Hermione was anxious by how comfortable in her routine she'd become. Every morning she would wake to eggs, bacon, sausages, and more pancakes than she could ever dream of finishing, most of which went uneaten. The oatmeal she always left untouched. She would spend the morning in her room rarely leaving, entertaining herself by memorizing every detail etched into the dozen or so tapestries hanging from the ceiling. Most days, Diggip would come to her room and escort her to the kitchen where they would chat while he prepped dinner for the evening. Malfoy had been back for a day or two, but true to what Diggip had said, he rarely stepped foot into the manor itself. Hermione hadn't even seen the Death Eater, but knew exactly what he was having for dinner each evening. For the past few days, Hermione had watched Diggip stuff ducks, fire up some creme brûlée, and slow cook a pot roast that would feed a small family for a week.

Every night Hermione would retire to her bedroom and would stare at the ceiling burrowing her fingernails into her palms to try and put off sleep. Night time was always the most dreadful aspect of her day. The shadows that cascaded around the room resembled tall figures looming over her as she cowered in the tall bed frame. More often then not, she'd wake covered in sweat with a raw throat and hair clinging to her face. She slept more comfortably during the day, and would often fall asleep at the kitchen table, her head falling into her hands. The exhaustion would simply over take her, and she'd fall asleep before her head had even hit the table.

This particular morning, as Hermione stirred and let out a low groan, a large flask of fresh pumpkin juice at the foot of her bed caught her eye. There it was, sitting next to the usual array of breakfast foods that would go to waste. Hermione threw the covers off pouring herself a tall glass. She closed her eyes in content as she took the first sip.

 _Ahem_ \- Hermione's eyes shot up as the sound of someone clearing their throat emanated from the doorway. A tall figure dressed in loose black slacks and a faded grey t-shirt was leaning against the doorway gazing attentively at Hermione. Is wasn't until she noticed the stark messy array of blond hair did she realize she was staring at a the Death Eater she knew very well. The pale and gaunt face of Draco Malfoy had dark circles under each eye, matching that of Hermione's.

That lull of peaceful routine in which Hermione had allowed herself to forget the fact that she was imprisoned snapped. She had convinced herself to overlook that she was held captive against her will by a murderous and tyrannous cult that had caused her so much pain and suffering. The Death Eaters that had taken her free will, stole her innocence and humility. She was acutely aware of the sudden minute tremors that over took her body. Her blood was pounding so loudly in her ears she couldn't hear her own breath. Or perhaps, she realized, she wasn't breathing at all.

The sudden flurry of emotions were powerful and indiscernible from one another. There was fear, that much was evident. She was scared and her stomach was twisting with the realization that she was sitting rather vulnerably on a bed wearing nothing but one of the over sized loose silk shirts. But if the red flushing in her face and the pounding of her heart were indicative of anything, it was anger. She met the eyes of the boy standing in the doorway, who very much resembled a man now. This was no longer just the boy who had targeted her with racial slurs and objectifying insults. He was now a Death Eater, responsible for the deaths and torturing of countless muggles and muggle-borns.

A few moments of pause hung in the air, and just as Hermione was sure he would turn on his heel and leave, he opened his mouth, "Diggip has been informed you're not to leave the confinements of your chambers for the remainder of your stay. We'll be expecting visitors, and I can't very well have an imprisoned mudblood waltzing around making a scene-"

"Why am I here, Malfoy?" Hermione cut him off curtly with a voice she didn't have moments before. It was that _word_. She seemed to be better acquainted with the term _mudblood_ than her own name as of late.

"Because the Dark Lord has deemed you to be Potter bait. Personally, I don't see what all the fuss is about". He slowly trailed his gaze up and down her bone thin figure, settling once again on her sunken cheekbones and bleary eyes. "It doesn't look like theres much left of you to _bait_ over". 

Hermione flinched responsively to the hurtful words; they only carried weight because they were true. She held her chin high as she retorted in a quiet voice, "I meant _here_ , in this bloody room as opposed to the hole thats a few floors below our feet that I usually reside in."

Malfoy's expression changed minutely, his harsh gaze softening so slightly Hermione couldn't be sure to have caught it. She stared hard at the floor then, ashamed of what she could only assume was a skewed version of pity coming from the untrustworthy Death Eater. "Things will be different now," he said softly. "Do not leave this room."

When Hermione look up again, the door was swinging shut. He was gone.

•••

" _FUCK_ ", Draco whispered to himself, his hand still on the door handle that led to Hermione's room. Why couldn't he have just left her in the cellar? Now he had to deal with the mudblood walking around his house, arousing suspicion from any visiting which or wizard. She probably despised him. This didn't bother him as the feeling was very much neutral. She was sickly thin and had this defeated look about her when she thought no one was looking. And her _hair_ , it still stuck out on end and frizzed up to two, three times the size of her head.

At least she had enjoyed the pumpkin juice, Draco thought to himself. He remembered her practically drinking her weight in it every morning at breakfast in the dining hall at Hogwarts. He would have to remind Diggip to pick some more up- _wait_ , why was he showing her any kindness at all? With any luck this temporary situation would be over and done within the coming months. The girl would most likely be dead by the time the war ended. Draco shook his head to himself, it matters because you're not a complete and utter monster you daft wizard. Despite what many thought of him.

He'd done well in the past few months. His mothers death had impacted him hard, and it was easy to inflict his own pain and suffering onto others in his line of work. The Dark Lord had learned he had an affinity for torturous methods. Curiously, Voldemort had charged him with the task of gathering information not from the enemy, but instead from within the ranks. Draco's main daily chore was picking apart Death Eaters accused of treason. The war was not going smoothly as of late, and because of this the Death Eater ranks had turned into a witch hunt trying to find the Order's source. It was said that Malfoy was so adept at inflicting pain that many would simply confess to crimes they hadn't committed to end it. If only it were that simple. Malfoy frequently dropped near unconscious men and women to Lord Voldemort's door step to await further torture that could last days before death.

This had little affect on Malfoy. He knew that none of the Death Eaters were innocent. He'd had the opportunity to work on a few who had abandoned his family when Draco's mother had been crucified. Some he held less personal grudges with. Knowing a Death Eaters true crimes were often enough to fuel Malfoy's hate. He smiled fondly, remembering a time when Voldemort was suspicious of Fernir Greyback turning werewolves without his permission. The dog half-breed that was responsible for the rape and murder of dozens of witches and wizards over the past few years. No, Malfoy had had no trouble at all with that one. The scars that painted the back of Fernir's neck now were just a taste of the number Draco had done to ever inch of the mongrels skin. He was always a little curious as to why Lord Voldemort had spared him. The accusations had held true after all.

Draco shook his head, trying to focus his mind on the task at hand. Astoria and Daphne Greengrass were coming to stay at the manor for a few days. This meant Nott would undoubtedly show up too. Theo liked to try and make an impression on Daphne, a total waste of fucking time in Draco's mind. The girls would stay in the East wing, but Astoria would most likely end up paying a visit to Draco's room a few times too. Draco sighed at the thought. Sure, Astoria was good in bed, but that was about all she was good for. But Draco was suddenly getting the feeling that the sex wasn't worth all the strings that came attached. Now she had taken to inviting herself over to the manor unannounced, sometimes in the company of her sister like this coming visit. Where the fuck had that come from?

He had another issue at hand though. Draco stifled a groan as he realized Granger would be occupying the room connected with his. Whatever, he thought to himself. He didn't want to make it apparent that he was no longer sleeping in the manor. He enjoyed the privacy and solitude of his greenhouse, and didn't love the idea of anyone waltzing. He'd be moving back into the Master bedroom. The mudblood bitch would have to deal with Astoria. The Greengrass sisters were known for being loud, he thought with a lopsided grin.

•••

Hermione paced the circumference of her room, counting each circuit as it was completed.

"One-hundred and eighty-eight. One-hundred and eighty-"

 _Crack_! ~

Diggip appeared at the foot of the master bed with a platter filled with food. He frowned at the untouched plate of lunch sitting where the new platter would go.

"Mr. Granger, you need to eat if you're to regain your strength."

Hermione snorted in reply, "Theres not much left to be strong for Diggip." Hermione's eyes didn't stray from the picturesque view of the manor at sunset.

The elf sighed, and approached Hermione by the windowsill. Is there anything else I could get for you Ms. Granger. Perhaps a book or two to pass the time while Master of the house has guests visiting?"

Hermione looked towards Diggip, a wide smile breaking out across her face.

•••


	5. Chapter 5

•••

Malfoy manor was cast in a morning glow, the first rays of sun peaking over the horizon. In the heat of summer, the cool and dewy scenery was a welcome sight. The large bay windows overlooking the front lawn of the estate offered a panoramic view of the sunrise. Hermione lay curled in the duvet at the base of her bed, fast asleep. She had a small collection of books next to her, the majority of which she had finished the evening prior. Still clutched in her grasp was a copy of Enchanted Encounters. It was a book Hermione recalled Mrs. Weasley purchasing from Flourish & Blotts. Although the Manor was rumoured to posses an extensive library, Hermione had only been granted access to a half dozen books provided to her by Diggil. Although Hermione had never before learned of an elf taking an interest in literature, she was quite sure that the books were his private collection.

 _CRACK_

Diggil appeared into Hermione's room carrying a tray with a very minimal breakfast. Though Hermione's appetite had improved some, she was still prone to wasting food left on her platter.

'Time to wake up, Ms. Granger. And do please try and make it to the mattress this evening, you'll spoil the covers on the floor.'

Hermione stirred in her blankets, pulling them in closer to her. She had taken to sleeping on the floor when the moon was high, providing enough light to read by. It had only been a day or two since the Greengrass sisters had moved in. Although Hermione tried to not ask Diggil questions, he tended to let small details slip in her presence. It was how she had come to know that Tomlin had been set up in the opposite wing- and no, she couldn't see him. She knew Malfoy had taken up the room joined to hers while the Greengrass sisters were visiting the manor. Though Diggil enjoyed making conversation during his brief moments with Hermione, he very rarely made any mention of Malfoy himself. He often spoke of riotous jokes made by Ms. Astoria Greengrass, the fierce appetite of Mr. Theo Nott, or the elegant gown supported by Ms. Daphne Greengrass' figure. Hermione had stopped pestering Diggil on matters pertaining to the war, or the wellness of her friends. He either knew nothing regarding the ongoing conflict, or was pretending to. One thing Hermione never failed to ask, was when she might be able to access the library. _Enchanted Encounters_ was hardly a stifling read, and Hermione wished for nothing more than some pages with content that may actually distract her from her current situation.

Hermione groaned and sat up, rubbing away the fogginess from her eyes. "Good morning Diggil," she said with a stiff yawn. She left the blanket sprawled out on the floor as she climbed up the soft mattress she typically ate her breakfast with.

"Has the young Matilda encountered a Mr. Fairweather yet?," posed Diggil, referring to the open book partially hidden among the blankets on the floor.

"Yes, and unfortunately, she's quite smitten."

"Unfortunately?"

"Mr. Fairweather seems a bit like a pompous ass if you ask me. Matilda is far better off falling in love with that other boy- oh what's his name… the one she meets in the beginning, who's a bit of a fool. He runs off with the traveling beasts show. It's all bullocks! This Fairweather bloke will ruin her."

Diggil poured Hermione a tall glass of pumpkin juice. "Perhaps it's not Matilda that needs Mr. Fairweather, but rather Mr. Fairweather who needs a Matilda."

Hermione cast a confused glance over at Diggil who was busying himself with the drawers of the trolley.

It would be ignorant to assume Hermione was any happier in her remodelled cell. Yes, she was comfortable, clothed- and she only ever had to eat oatmeal of her own volition. Yet she knew not a hundred miles from where she slept, thousands of witches and wizards were in a state of peril, fighting alongside their family and friends. Dozens of her friends would be imprisoned or murdered. From the state of things, she figured her friends must assume she was dead also. Hermione had spent weeks now living in boredom, with little to distract her from the realities outside her room. Hermione's attention wavered from the conversation and instead focused on the fork sitting apart from the other cutlery. She narrowed her eyes in concentration as she tried to orient it so that it was in line with the spoon next to it.

One of the more favourable things regarding her new living situation was the restoration of her health. Since regaining her strength, Hermione had been once again able to perform her usual array of parlour tricks. Wandless Magic was a science of the utmost complexity- even executing the most mundane tasks such as flipping the page of her novel or stirring the spoon in her morning coffee were energy expending. The fork quivered slightly and made a sudden jerking motion- in completely the wrong direction. Hermione let out a sigh of frustration as she snatched up the fork and dug into her eggs. She glanced up to meet Diggil's eyes, noticing the look of surprise and apprehension. He'd seen the sudden shift in the fork, and there would be no doubting it was her that has been able to move it.

"What?", she muffled through her mouthful of eggs. Hermione tried to squelch the sudden feeling of trepidation. She hadn't seen her pitiful efforts as dangerous in any way- but suddenly she realized how ignorant she had been to how her captor may feel. The Death Eaters would hardly condone her learning telekinesis. Hermione flushed and cast her eyes down, paying close attention now to her breakfast.

•••

Draco woke up near noon in his fathers bed. It was the master bedroom, the very room his father had slept for nearly three decades. He felt adamant that although he had temporarily taken up residence in the bedroom, it by no means made it his own. He could not wait to move back out of the manor and into his own greenhouse flat further off the grounds. This whole charade was beginning to feel tiresome- and the girls had only been here a few days. Theo provided the only source of liberation, despite his constant state of drunkenness. A low moan rose up from the other figure taking up room in the bed. As Astoria stirred, she shifted her body so that she rested her head on Draco's chest.

"Good morning…", she purred, more awake now. She pulled her right hand up to Draco's chest and began slow sultry circles.

Immediately, Draco shoved her off and sat up, pushing the blankets off himself. "You weren't supposed to sleep here," he said venomously.

"Sorry Draco, I must have just dozed off," she replied with a smirk. She slowly sat up, wrapping her arms around his chest. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "All the better in my opinion, now we have a more convenient round two in the morning…". Astoria kissed the base of his jawline, moving slowly down his neck.

Draco closed his eyes allowing the new surge of lust to clear away the fogginess of the morning. "It's fine.", he said softly. "We won't let it happen again." Draco turned suddenly, catching Astoria's mouth in his own. She pulled her camisole oner her head and cast it off to the side, raking her hands down his chest.

 _CRACK_

Draco froze, and let out a soft sigh while disentangling himself from Astoria. "Diggil….".

"Good morning Master Malfoy. I was just coming by to inquire weather Ms. Greengrass would be taking breakfast in the parlour, or if she would be joining you here in the Master Bedroom."

"Well, I'd- "

"In the parlour." Draco cut in. "Astoria, sleepovers were cute when you were younger. Your room is down the hall, next time make the walk." Draco threw her shirt in her direction and fled the room with little more than a nod in Diggil's direction. He wasn't sure what had thrown him in to such a fixed mood. One thing he was sure of, was that Astoria was getting too comfortable in this house. Without paying attention to where he was headed, he walked out of the east wing into the centre of the house. He strolled into the living room, pulling a shirt over his head. He moved over the warmth of the open fire, taking a seat to slip on a pair of trainers. He gazed into the blazing fireplace for a moment before grabbing a pinch of floo powder. Just as he was about to cast the substance into the flames, a voice called from behind him.

"Where you're headed off to mate?"

Draco cast a glance down to the sickly blue powder coating his fingers. He turned to look at man sprawled half naked on the rooms leather love-seat. "Just headed out for a walk. You don't happened to have any smokes on you?"

Theo pulled himself off the couch and stood tall with a big stretch. He twisted his upper body left and right, cracking his back while stifling a yawn. He paused for a puzzled moment, patting down his bare legs looking for something. Suddenly, a thought appeared to have dawned on him as he bent down into the couch and began to run his hands under the pillow covers. He pulled his wand out victorious and clearly pleased with himself. He was by no means the epitome of sobriety.

With a wave of his wand, he was fully outfitted in a pair of black trousers and a crisp white dress shirt.

"Well then, I might just as well join you. And yes to the smokes though I'm a tad hankered you've picked up the habit. What would Lucius say if he could see us today!"

"You reek of gin," muttered Draco as he folded down the top of Theo's collar.

"The headache isn't going anywhere either. Have you made any of that maroon shit as of late? The hangover stuff we threw together in sixth year?"

Draco let a knowing smile flicker across his face. "Yeah, I know the stuff. I'll get Diggil to pull some of it out of the Apothecary once we get back."

Theo let out a low groan as he pushed his head into his hands. "Daphne might need some too. I think she's worse off then me. Did you hear her last night? She was off her rocker, mate."

"Hmm, maybe had something to do with you calling her a harlot for not sleeping with her. So much for playing the long game, Theo."

Draco let his words sink in as he threw the contents of his hand into the fireplace and stepped into the floo network. He stepped out into a shady pub. He kept his head down and waited for Theo to follow through after him. He kept discreet not because anyone in the rugged bar posed any sort of threat- though it was a rough crowd. It was because Draco has developed a bit of a celebrity over the summer, and he was hardly difficult to remember. The Death eater with platinum blonde hair. As Lord Voldemort gathered more power and support across the wizarding world, Death Eaters had become more public and bold with their genocidal pursuits.

Theo stepped through in behind Draco, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of their surroundings. He took a moment to look around the bar, zeroing in on the patriotic nature of the decorations, which encompassed a series of tattered Scottish flags.

"Who the hell goes for a quick stroll through _Scotland_ , Malfoy?"

"Would you shut up Theo- we're running an errand." Draco cast an uncomfortable glance around the room. The floo network had been nearly inaccessible for months now. Lord Voldemort had infiltrated the Department of Magical Transportation, immediately disbanding any and all transportation for non-registered citizens. Any mudbloods or rumoured blood traitors would have their wands stripped and wouldn't be allowed access to the network under Umbridge. As travellers were rare, the room had come to a pause watching Theo and Draco's entrance.

Draco pushed on towards the exit of the pub, Theo walking in tow. The pub was situated along the coast, in a small wizarding community of Port Longhaven. Walking through the old town, Malfoy admired the familiar cobblestone lanes and narrow alleys in between tall apartments that each had their own shop along the ground floor. He could already smell the fresh salt in the air from the sea. He didn't mind having Theo with him, though he'd kept this place a secret from most people in his life for the better part of a decade.

It did not go unnoticed by Theo how comfortably Draco navigated the narrow streets of the rural town. He appeared at ease even. Something rare of his friend. Theo couldn't help but raise his eyebrows as Draco even went as far as to wave to a shopkeeper rather amicably.

Draco walked to the edge of the town pursuing a dirt road that seemed to descend steeply towards the sea. Theo walked in perplexed silence, refusing to disturb the peaceful nature of their hike. After a few miles, the top of a small cottage could be seen, and behind it- open water. As they passed the small cabin, the came to the edge of a high rocker cliff. The drop was over a hundred feet down of sheer rock. Despite the rocks below suggesting a sinister promise of a quick death, it was hard to stay far from the edge. The billowing winds made it hard to hear your own thoughts, allowing your mind to purge itself of any inhibitions. It was meditative and hectic. Although high in the air, there were still palpable waves of sea spray flowing through the wind. The moisture would hit your face at a velocity that would make your skin sting and your bones shiver. Theo sat low to the ground and lit up a cigarette with his wand. He took a long drag before offering it to Draco. Draco contemplated the tobacco in his hand before putting it to his lips and taking a deep inhale himself. He felt the nicotine his his lungs and work it's way into his blood. He let out a small exhale, blowing smoke rings that lasted only moments in the wind.

They sat there for quite a time before their sodden shirts provided little protection from the cold.

"Come, we can head inside," said Draco, without looking away from the dark clouds speeding off the ocean towards the coast.

Theo nodded and stood to follow Draco towards the small cabin. It looked only large enough for a bedroom or two. As they neared the structure, Theo took note of the boarded windows, the rotted wooden steps on the porch, and the weeds overtaking the front garden.

Draco paused at the foot of the doorway, turning back to look at Theo. There was an intensity to his gaze and he spoke in a low voice as he said, "I trust you to not speak of this to anyone."

Theo failed to hide his surprise and confusion as his face broke out in a lopsided grin. "What have you got hiding out in Scotland? Your own private swingers bar? Blimey mate, you didn't have to be so private-".

"I'm serious Theo. Your word."

Theo smile faded as he nodded with vigour. "Y-yeah, s-sure mate."

•••

Theo was sitting opposite Draco with a hand tightly wrapped around a cold glass of brandy. Between them was a grand oak wood table sitting upon marble pillars. The pillars were a milky opal, as were the tile floors, the crown molding around the cavernous room, and the curtains that hung across the ceiling to floor windows that overlooked the Scotland cliffs. There were modern painting hung across every inch of available wall space that wasn't taken up by the picturesque view. As if the walls didn't do the artwork justice, some paintings had been incorporated into the ceiling art. A grand staircase led up to a loft overlooking the main living room. The entire cottage opened up as one massive room- kitchen, bedroom, and living room combined.

"How long has this place been around. Blimey mate, this must have been a hassle. The extension charms alone would have been a headache. What's the security like in this place? I could feel the layers of it coming through the front fucking door. No _way_ you'd be allowed to put up a house like this. There'd be too many questions- wait, did the rents know about this?" Theo began muttering to himself, "Of course they did, that's some big magic for someone who's just barely scraped by through seventh year- no offence mate, I know you had a lot going on but-"

"Would you _please_ shut up for just a minute." Draco sighed impatiently, drawing a slow breath before continuing, speaking slowly. "Narcissa set the cottage up at the end of our third year. It was a good thing too because you're right, there's no way she'd have been able to pool the resources to build this thing under The Dark Lord. Narcissa had brought me here often as Lord Voldemort and his followers slowly started to infiltrate the manor." Draco paused to take a sip from his glass. "If I wasn't at Hogwarts, you can be damn well sure I was here."

Theo was quiet while looking at his friend, slouched into an armchair too large for any reasonably sized man. It made him look younger again- or perhaps just his own age. He'd been cast too soon into the role of his father.

"So what's the big deal about the place? You've gone Protego Maxima, Shield and Silencing charms everywhere."

"This place would be harder to find than Hogwarts." Draco began stirring the ice cubes in his drink. "Save one detail."

Theo leaned forward, and spoke in an excited whisper. "And that is?"

Draco looked up to meet the eyes of his friend, "It requires a secret keeper."

Theo's brow furrowed in incredulity, "A Fidelius Charm? You need me to be your secret keeper."

Draco didn't respond, but kept his steady gaze on his friend, waiting for his decision.

Theo spoke softly, "Of course Draco. You know I'd do anything you asked of me."

"This isn't a decision to take lightly. You know what will happen if caught."

"Well are you? Asking this of me? I'll do it, but bloody hell Draco, what do you really need a safehouse for? The Dark Lord will only be pissed if he finds you've been keeping something like this hidden. Hell, why not just tell the guy you've got a nice coastal property and move on."

Draco put his drink down and strolled towards the open kitchen. He turned the tap on and splashed his face with cold water. He dried his hands and leaned against the sink frame, letting his head hang.

"You're asking why I'm choosing to omit the existence of a sanctuary from the tyrannous murderer who killed my parents. I'd have thought the answer would be clearer to you, Nott."

Theo paused before replying. He felt a wave of relief pass over him, mixed with the dread building in his stomach. He spoke so softly, he couldn't be sure Malfoy could hear him. "I'll be strait with you mate, I thought you were dead inside. I thought they'd broken you. I was there ya know? When they brought in Goyle I looked at what you did to his body and couldn't believe that the kid I grew up with would do that to his own mate-"

Draco turned suddenly with malevolence in his eyes, "When the Dark Lord suspected someone of smuggling Hogwarts students out, I volunteered his name." Drago paused, breathing heavily. "I'm filled with remorse not for what I did to Goyle, but that I hadn't had the intuition to do it sooner. He was a monster without a brain, wreaking havoc without thinking of the consequences."

Theo spoke quietly, "We'd all thought you'd gone a bit nutter. Started to enjoy it."

Draco looked over to Theo with sad eyes. "Then I did my job properly. Now will you be my secret keeper, or not."

Theo let out a smile, happy to have a piece of his friend back, despite the bit of pain that came with it.

•••


End file.
